


Soft

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, Domestic, Fluff, M/M, blanket forts ftw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2014-03-19
Packaged: 2018-01-16 08:11:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1338286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teeny lil bit of fluff 'cause Derek can't resist Sleepy!Stiles and neither could my poor imagination</p>
            </blockquote>





	Soft

Derek is the worst boyfriend ever.

He knows he is, but that doesn’t ever seem to help his case.  He’s late, _again_ , and he knows Stiles wanted him home earlier tonight for their Friday movie marathon.  He feels terrible, a sinking, guilty feeling in his gut, and he knows they need eggs and milk, but he doesn’t want to stop at the store, he wants to go _home_.

When he pulls into the driveway, he immediately smells popcorn and the thick feeling in his gut gets a little thicker.  He knows Stiles is one of the most forgiving people in the whole world, but that doesn’t stop him feeling like a terrible person.

He shivers in the cold night air as he unlocks the door and slips inside quietly.  The the menu music for some movie or other drifts down the hallway as he slides out of his shoes and jacket, listening for the heartbeat he knows as well as his own.  He can hear it beating a soft  _thump-thump, thump-thump_ from the living room.

He can’t help the smile that sneaks onto his face when he gets to the doorway, though, because there’s no way anyone’s ever seen anything cuter than this.

Stiles has turned the entire room into a blanket fort and Derek suspects that he pulled all the blankets out of the attic and even used the one off their bed _and_ the one from the guest bed.  Stiles is cuddled up in the floor with their giant bed pillow, dark pink lips open in a little ‘o’, hair mussed, face sleep-slack.  He’s wearing one of Derek’s old, threadbare sweatshirts and his own boxers and Derek's heart clenches.

Derek quickly goes upstairs and changes into a pair of sweatpants, foregoing a shirt since he’s aware of Stiles’ affinity for his bare skin.

He slips under the fort and curls himself around Stiles, breathing in his familiar scent of brown sugar, wood smoke, and _Stiles-and-Derek,_  and nuzzling into the short, soft hairs at the nape of his neck.

Stiles makes a blurry noise and presses back into Derek’s warmth, mumbling something softly.

“Sorry I’m late,” Derek whispers against Stiles’ skin.

“’ts okay,” Stiles mumbles, turning over to tuck his face into Derek’s neck. “y’r here now, 's good.”

Derek kisses his forehead and hums softly in agreement, stroking his hands down Stiles’ spine.

“Wanna kiss,” he stretches his neck up and offers his lips, eyes still closed.

Derek runs his fingers through Stiles’ hair and presses a long, soft kiss to Stiles’ offered mouth before he pulls back with little enamored pecks.

“Mmm,” Stiles tucks his face back into Derek’s neck. “Yum.”

“You’re a dork,” Derek chuckles.

“You love me,” Stiles says, biting him lightly, voice muffled by Derek's skin.

“Yeah,” Derek agrees softly, “I do.”

“Love you, too.”

And if Derek wakes up the next morning with a stiff spine and a terrible crick in his neck, he’s not going to complain because Stiles loves him and also he has magic crick-relieving fingers.


End file.
